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morganaofcamelot · 3 years

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If Wishes Came True (Chapter 1)

Title: If Wishes Came True Chapter I: The Games People Play

Fandom: BBC Robin Hood

Ships: Guy of Gisborne/Original Female Character, Guy of Gisborne/Marian of Knighton, Original Female Character/Original Male Character

Definately an AU - Sir Guy of Gisborne has served the current Sheriff of Nottingham for five years prior to the beginning of the first season, and is considered a part of the family, both by Vaisey and his daughter Valerie. The chapters are from Val’s POV, as she struggles to maintain her youthful innocence in a place that’s all too willing to steal it away from her, and navigate the intrigues of her father. [Many changes from the show, although the fic loosely follows season 1]

When the servants came to draw the curtains, the cool March air entered the room, almost like a kiss it brushed her, wiping the frown from her face. Below, the courtyard was almost deserted save for some dogs looking for scraps, and the usual guard that her father required to be posted at all times. The castle would soon return to normality, and the men would waken with their sour bellies and headaches, expected to return to their duties.

Everyone but her father, Valerie thought, with an unbidden shiver. The feast last night has been as grand and magnificent as any girl in the cusp of womanhood could dream. For once, her father spared no expense and had made the castle look like it came straight out of a romantic tale; he had commanded the main hall to be lit with torches on sconces, and a hundred candles to be placed around, engulfing the otherwise cold interior in warm light. More servants were specifically hired to help, and she watched in awe as the said servants were hurrying to complete their tasks, and carry the plates of food from the castle kitchen to the feast hall. She had not seen such lavish expenditure on food in all sixteen years of her life.

But as much as she had enjoyed the revelry and the merriment a good feast and a goblet of wine could bring, there was more; her heart had fluttered, last night, at the sight of her father’s right-hand man, Sir Guy of Gisborne, who was most handsome out of his black leather jacket, opting for one in dark blue instead, a color which brought out the color of his eyes…

Valerie blushed even at the mere thought of it – this time she could not blame the strong Burgundian wine that she tested the day before for her bad thoughts, because it was long gone from her system by then. Another shiver crept up her spine. He was such a delight to look at most days, but she wasn’t raised a fool; she knew that his affections were lying with somebody else, whose hand was frequently looped with his arm.

Lady Marian was a pretty young maid, five or six years older than her, and her smiles and attention brought the best out of Sir Guy, who was infamous for the permanent scowl and the bad temper of a mad dog throughout the shire. Valerie held nothing against her, but still found that she was very envious of her, that moment. Not that her father would ever allow her to form an attachment to his man-at-arms. As he had told her, on numerous occasions, only a truly wealthy and powerful man would make a good match for you, my darling. The words were always followed by a pat in the hand, as it was his chosen gesture to show affection.

A shiver, again. This time she hugged her shawl tighter, trying to keep the sensation away. Yesterday’s feast had a special purpose; Lord Robert of Locksley, the Earl of Huntingdon was back from the Crusades after five years fighting as the king’s personal guard. She couldn’t help wondering whether the feast was a distraction – knowing her father, and knowing that Lord Robert’s lands had been ruled by Sir Guy in his absence, she couldn’t help it. None of them should be celebrating Huntingdon’s return. In fact, she thought she had seen Sir Guy most stressed about the situation.

No matter, she thought. Men do as men are.

Valerie turned away and paced about the room, tempted to find an excuse to skip breakfast at the table. She sighed, for her lack of conviction. She’s been taught well. She was raised to be a good girl, and she would only live to serve her father, such as he is, for he had always loved her, in his own way. And so she marched, like a soldier heading to war, but not before taking a last, long look at the mirror. Her face didn’t particularly please her; a long nose, a somewhat pointed chin and high cheekbones was her mother’s legacy to her. Her father, had granted her the dark hair and the green-brown eyes. She wasn’t half as pretty as Marian of Knighton, but she couldn’t help it. She shook her head.

As she had guessed, she found her father in the hall, breaking his fast. Upon spotting her, he gave her a curt smiled and indicated the chair on his left. “Good morning, daughter! Did you have a good night’s sleep?”

“Yes, thank you for asking, Lord Father” and she bend to give him an affectionate kiss on his cheek. “Where is everyone?” she asked, noting the absence of Sir Guy.

A servant girl, Jane, inquired whether Valerie would have wine. Valerie shook her head, as she didn’t enjoy the beverage as much as her father did.

“Oh, last night’s merriment calls for a late morning, don’t you think? Not for me and you, of course.” He said as he bit into his potage and bread. She didn’t speak as he chew, having a feeling that he would go into details. And she was right. “Gisborne’s sulking around here, somewhere, he should be with us soon. And Lady Marian and her father, of course, since they spend the night here.”

Valerie feigned a smile at the mention of Marian. “Good,” she said. “Then I shall have company while you men go on about your business.” Her father nodded. For a heartbeat he seemed intent on studying her, but got distracted by Sir Guy’s entrance.

“Ah, Gisborne. At last. We were just talking about you.” He flashed another one of his bright smiles. Sir Guy was once again dressed in his favorite outfit, the all black leather set.

“My lord,” he politely inclined his head at the sheriff. “Valerie.” His courtesy applied to her, as well.

Valerie took a sip of water. “Good morning, Sir Guy.” She said in a small voice. Damn, she thought. Damn me. That sounded weaker than a man’s dying breath. Her cheeks reddened then, and she was glad that her hair were down this day, to conceal her embarrassment from their scrutiny.

“You had a nice night, Gisborne?” Her father’s lip twitched – an innuendo, or a secret lied in his words. Hidden meanings made his lips twitch, Valerie had noticed. She had watched him speak them countless times.

Sir Guy smirked, without much humor. “It was passable, my lord. The welcoming feast was excellent, however.”

The sheriff – for that what he was when he was in the presence of other people – barked out a laugh. “Ah, Gisborne. I am glad you enjoyed yourself. But I must know, was it the company you kept, or Huntingdon’s face of despair? You have to tell me.”

The black knight laughed, a short, contained sound; as if he didn’t have enough practice at it. “Both, my lord.”

The sheriff patted his subordinate’s shoulder. “Good boy,”. As if he is a dog. Valerie held her tongue; it wouldn’t do, messing with her father’s affairs. She had the inkling that her father saw Sir Guy as the son he was never granted, but his affections were not shown in a way society could deem compatible.

Soon, Sir Edward of Knighton and his daughter came in. Sir Guy’s eyes perked up to look at the object of his fascination. Disappointment crossed his face when Sir Edward took the chair beside him, forcing Marian to sit next to Valerie, who shifted uncomfortably for a moment, then settled. I have nothing against Marian. I cannot blame her for the affection she receives.

After some idle chit chat, the sheriff spoke once more with authority. “You will be present at the hanging, I take it?”

Marian’s fork slipped out of her hand, falling on the plate with a loud noise. “Is it to be today, my lord?” she asked, her bright blue eyes wide.

The sheriff relished her discomfort. “Oh, yes, my darling. My daughter will attend it. She would be most appreciative of your company throughout this ordeal.” He spoke in a way that didn’t let Marian any room for arguments.

“I’d be honored to stand as her companion, my lord.”

The sheriff’s lip twitched again before he spoke. “Good girl.”

***

Valerie had to admit, that Lady Marian was not the most pleasant of companies; she had an air of superiority about her, and a generous amount of confidence that gritted on Valerie’s nerves, because she lacked those qualities, and she so wanted to have them! She shook her head to empty it of her negative thoughts. Lady Marian has done nothing to you. She is as forced in this position as you are.

Yet, envy was not an easy sin to wash away. Still she tried, because she was a good girl. She lowered her eyes whenever she spotted Sir Guy glancing towards them, knowing full well that he sought to gaze upon Marian. Valerie bit her lip, to stop bitter words from escaping.

Lost in her thoughts, she barely noticed the wondrous turn of events that took place right in front of her eyes; when the stools beneath the hanged men were kicked and the cries of their loved ones echoed in the stone walls of the courtyard, Lord Robert snatched a bow from one guard and shot arrows at the hanging ropes, claiming that their crimes worth no more punishment than a spell in the stocks. He managed to free two before one of the guards had his aim on him. Beside her, Marian shifted, grabbing a pin from her hair. Valerie saw that this was not a simple hair ornament, it was an elegant throwing knife, made in such a way that could be concealed in the hair of a woman. Reading into Marian’s intention of incapacitating the guard, Valerie found the courage to catch Marian’s hand before she managed to throw it.

Shock passed Marian’s face that mirrored Valerie’s in equal measure. Below them a cry of pain escaped Lord Robert’s lips. Valerie turned to see that the guard had struck true, and that the arrow shaft had hit the Earl in the arm. The men the renegade lord had managed to free, reached for him amongst the fray, quickly grabbed him and made for the gate, in mad dash to escape justice. The sheriff barked left and right orders, she saw Sir Guy running behind the fugitives, something acute to panic in his features.

The two men Lord Robert didn’t manage to save, were hanging lifelessly from their ropes, forgotten and limp.

“Why?” Marian hissed in my ear, furious.

Valerie feigned innocence. “Oh, I do not know what happened. I’m sorry if I held onto your hand too tight; I was scared out of my mind, Lady Marian. I thank God for your company, for without you here, I would have surely fainted!”

Marian was confused, but managed to slip into a mask fairly quickly. “Oh, think nothing of it. I am here for you.” Biting her lip at the end of the phrase. Lies, Valerie thought. Her face feels like an open book.

Looking down, Valerie commented on the lethal hairpin. “Oh, that’s a lovely design,” she said, pointedly. “It must have fallen off your hair, during this nasty business.”

Biting her lip again, Marian nodded.

“It’s very pretty you know; you must let me borrow it one day.”

Marian offered a small smile, now that she felt secure. “I will, one day. You must be very careful, though. It was a gift from my father.”

The commotion had left the castle, as most of the guards were chasing the escaped criminals. Valerie smiled at the older woman. It was Marian’s turn to compliment her, she knew, as was the norm between the two of them.

“That’s a lovely necklace. Silver, isn’t it?” Sure enough, Marian delivered. Valerie’s hand touched the jewel in question without meaning to; it was a token she wore every day for the last six months, ever since Sir Guy had given it to her as a birthday present. The design was simple, but Valerie thought it the most beautiful necklace of the world.

“Yes,” Valerie replied, with a genuine smile growing on her face. “It is my favorite.” A slight pause. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, Lady Marian, I have to return to my father.”

Marian simply smiled and nodding. “And I will return to mine.” Valerie spared a glance behind her, as she was climbing up the stairs of the castle.

“What game are you playing, Lady Marian?”

#bbc robin hood #robin hood bbc #guy of gisborne #guy of gisborne x original female character #*mine

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my-whumpy-little-heart · 4 years

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The Zodiac Whumper - Gemini Part 1

So you may have already noticed that this is part one. So um. Yeah. This is already really long so I had to split it into two parts. The second one should be up within the week. Continued from here. If you’re new, start here!

Tag list (ask to be added or removed): @whumpallday, @stxck-fxck, @thatsthewhump, @unsung-sympathy, @terriblethrillssss, @insanitywishes, @woodenhoneybee, @whale-whumps

Content warnings: lady whump (there will be guy whump too if that’s not your speed, more next part though), descriptions of a near panic attack, burning with candlewax

Last of the notes: a huge shoutout to @shameless-whumper who requested the premise I used for this piece and the next, and @card-games-and-pain for this post which I used a slightly modified version of in these pieces. Big creds to you guys for providing my creativity some sustenance.

She woke up slowly, blinking the sleep from her eyes and wincing at a voice above her, gradually floating into her ears.

“...can’t just skip you; up and at ‘em now, Gemma!”

“Who th’hell’s Gemma? ‘m I lost? I‘ve never known anyone with th’name Gemma…” she slurs, sleep laden tongue stumbling over the words. Her hands pushed her to sit up, forcing her to look at the person staring into the cage at her.

“There you go, nice and awake. And you’re Gemma, obviously.” Zoran tilted their head in a coy smile as if it had been her name all along.

“Gemma, that’s not even right… aren’t I supposed to be Gemini? I mean, you used the full Zodiac names for everyone else and I think you called me Gemini so I just assumed...” Gemma hung her head slightly. Saying this kind of thing was exactly what would get her on their bad side, but it would be easier to make the best of it later if she knew what they wanted.

“Oh, but I couldn’t very well call you both Gemini, could I?”

The words took a few seconds to settle in. And then her heart plummeted.

“Wh-what do you mean both?!” There were a million scenarios and theories to panic about in her head, filling it up and drowning her consciousness as her body shut down. Her gut instinct was yelling and trying to warn her, but she couldn’t hear it over the roaring waves.

“Yeah! I split it instead: you’re Gemma and he’s Nye!” They gesture at nothing, face falling for a second, “ ...oh that’s right, I almost forgot I didn’t reintroduce the two of you. Nye, get in here! Take her out for me, could you?” Short hair and dark skin came walking in, expression blank as he bent down with a ring of keys in his hands and Gemma gasped in a horrible, shaking sob.

“Brice! Oh god, Brice did they… why?! What did you- what are you doing to him?!” Gemma’s heart pounded at the sight of her twin brother--oh fuck they took her brother too what the hell what the helI--and he didn’t even look up to see the tears rolling down Gemma’s face and the hand clamped over her mouth to quiet her pathetic sobs.

“It’s wonderful how a Gemini breaks, isn’t it?” Zoran comments, not caring to address her distress. “That inherent need to learn and improve put to good use, huh? What a pity it would be to see you go the same way.”

“Don’t-” and sobbed silently, horrified that her first thought was ‘don’t do to me whatever you already did to him,’ “Please, just please let us go…”

“Leaving so soon?” they gasped dramatically, and Nye finally got the cage open. He dragged his sister out with a firm grip on her arm and held her still, facing Zoran. “I had to work so hard to find the perfect pair of Gemini twins! You have to stay for the rest of the party at least, watch everyone else’s turns, and, well, I haven’t even decided what to do with you lot after that!” They laughed like it was funny.

“Brice,” Gemma gave up on them, turning back to her brother with teary eyes, “why are you doing this? Please, let me go; whatever they offered or did to you isn’t worth it. I promise.” Nye twitched at that and she swore she saw just a hint of conflict in his expression. Not all was lost.

“Your brother Nye and I have an arrangement and, contrary to your belief, it is very much worth his while to comply with me. It’d be a shame if I had to-”

“No,” It was a husky, haunted whisper that first escaped Nye’s lips. “Please, don’t…”

“Oh, well if you insist,” Zoran sighed, “Nye, fetch the table I had you bring down. I trust you know well enough not to run by this point, Gemma. You’re not as thick skulled as a few other people here.” Pointedly, they glanced over at Taurus whose eyes glimmered dully with hurt at the comment.

Gemma stood complacently with hands held behind her back, eyes following her brother as he left the room. Nye came back just seconds later, locking the door behind himself, and wheeling in a long metal table that nearly had her passing out at the sight of it. Torture implements of all types and sizes were laid out in neat rows just begging to inflict pain on an unlucky victim. Amidst the knives, bottles, and syringes she recognized were countless mechanisms she didn’t even want to place, as well as everyday household objects strewn about.

She couldn’t even comprehend why or how all of this would be used on her and she was trembling uncontrollably and unseeingly when a hand clamped on her shoulder, pulling a flinch and coaxing her head up. Zoran stared, a fond smile spread over his lips, and wordlessly pulled her forward towards the table.

Gemma suppressed the urge to swat the hand away, or run, or crawl back in that awful, degrading cage to get away. She walked at the guidance of Zoran’s hand, and knelt when it pushed her down, holding hands still when a length of rope pulled them behind her back, and then her ankles just a minute later.

When a length of cloth came around her head as a blindfold, she leaned ever so slightly into it. Then the room was silent until she heard something akin to… the shuffling of cards?

“Nye, you and I are going to play a game,” they started, no room in the statement for refusal, “and Gemma is going to be a good pawn for us. The rules are simple, so pay attention because I’m not repeating them.

“We will draw cards one at a time. Whoever pulls the card must first read it aloud and then perform the listed action on Gemma or, because I’m merciful, you may forfeit and I’ll turn the card’s command on you instead. That card will then not count towards your full six cards. When both of us hit that card total of six, the game is over. Clear?”

“C-crystal,” Nye’s voice cracked around the word.

“And one more thing. To be sure this is as fair as possible, I’ve elected to include a mediator. Take Libra from his cage, Nye, and tie him down over there. Just the hands should work fine.”

At the mention of his sign, Libra went stock still. Some other captives were arguing, trying to protect him, but he couldn’t hear as he felt every muscle in his body locking up and panic coming on quicker than he could quell its effects. Nye’s tall, lean silhouette loomed over him and he squeezed his eyes shut. He wasn’t prepared for this. He would never have been prepared for this. He knew it was coming, but he thought he had a few days to collect himself--

“Libra, hey, can you look at me?” A hand holding his chin gently and a soft voice talking to him parted the impenetrable fog just for a second. “Where are you right now?”

He tried to think, but around wheezing breaths and shaky limbs it was impossible. Libra muttered something that got another response out of the voice.

“Listen to me, try to breathe. You’re, ah, you’re locked up in the basement where you’ve been for a few days. You know, the grey stone and cage, dim lights, all that. Smells a bit like mildew. Don’t worry, you’re not going to be hurt right now. This won’t be hard if you follow their instructions.”

The descriptions helped a bit, and he drew himself back to reality with them, pushing the fog and panic away to the back of his mind in favor of paying attention and following instructions right now.

“I- yeah, I ca-can, I can breathe I’m oh-okay,” he muttered, short of breath. Inhaling slowly, he counted out measured gasps as Nye pulled him out. Shaking legs carried him unsteadily to the loop in the floor where Libra was tied tightly, hands in front between his knees, so he couldn’t escape.

“Libra.” Zoran’s voice was sharp enough to cut, and he snapped his gaze up, wobbling with the lasting effects of his near panic attack. “You will be our mediator for obvious reasons. I trust you to have the values of fairness on your side as your sign should, because you know you’ll pay dearly for any deviance or bias. I’ll ask your opinion if I want it, and otherwise you’re to stay as a silent, close observer. Yes?”

“Y-yes.”

“Alright! The boring shit’s out of the way, so let’s get this show on the road!” Zoran’s expression split into a blinding grin, faux professionalism of earlier all driven away by the immediate promise of pure, unadulterated fun. “I’ll take the first turn.”

The room held its breath as they took the first card from the deck, reading it slowly over in their head before revealing it to everyone else.

“Drip hot wax on them.” They enunciated each word with pure ecstasy, “Starting things off with a bang, I see.”

At their feet as they lit a candle furnace, Gemma bit her lip in anticipation. Surely melted wax couldn’t hurt all too badly, she rationalized. She’d burnt herself on a candle before and it wasn’t the worst thing in the world. She could handle this.

Above, Nye watched on as Zoran melted what looked to be pieces of a candle. It melded into liquid in a basin above the flame, turning translucent and nearly sparkling as it stirred under the lights. It was tantalizing and sickening at the same time to know it would be poured over his sister’s skin, burning and burning until… he didn’t even know what would happen.

Zoran slipped a glove on one hand to protect him from the heat and flicked out a knife to slice open the back of her shirt, thankfully leaving her underclothing intact, and reached back for the melted wax. Gemma trembled under their hand that pulled the t-shirt apart, pushing hard on a shoulder to make her bend further over her knees.

When the wax hit, it felt cold for a few lovely seconds before the nerves buzzing under her skin caught on fire. In a blink, it was searing and pulling at her as it dripped and spread further like a parasite. It was melting her skin, starting at her shoulders, the liquid left of it dripping further and further down her stripped bones and muscles and hardening again, bonding like a shell that protected her from the relief she so desperately craved.

Her teeth were clenched with such force that she feared she would break them as she whimpered and moaned at sluggish agony that felt no better even minutes after most of the wax had dried.

The hand on her shoulder pulled her to sit back up, and at the movement Gemma felt the wax adjusting and cracking, reforming itself and shifting across its own burns. The blindfold was already soaked with tears but that didn’t keep her from crying all over again.

“Your turn, Nye,” Zoran turned to him and gestured to the stack of cards. Hand shaking, he drew one and flipped it over, breath already caught in his throat.

“Shut… shut them up,” he read, brow furrowing, “and it has a question mark on it.”

“That means you have a choice. You either find some way to ‘shut her up’ using whatever you can find on the table,” they gestured to Gemma, whose harsh breaths were still echoing through the room, “or I find a way to silence you. Your choice.”

“I-I can do it to her,” Nye muttered, walking closer to the table he’d brought in. He could do this painlessly, some way or another. His hand ghosted over a few things on the table, shivering and flinching away from others that he hoped he’d never see used. Or worse, he contemplated breathlessly, have to use himself.

Slowly, carefully, he settled on something. He felt bile rise in his throat at the thought of strapping it on his own sister, but it could be useful to her long term. Something to bite down on for the pain… something to help block screams so it was less humiliating…

Grimacing, Nye picked up the muzzle, all leather facepiece and straps with a metal bit, and carried it carefully over to where his sister was kneeling.

“Wow, didn’t take you for that kind, Nye,” Zoran commented with a giggle, “just don’t forget our deal about talking to her.” The man in question fixed them with a fragile glare before turning back to Gemma, putting a gentle hand on her jaw. Slowly, he coaxed it open and met her lips with the metal bit, sliding it in to the back of her mouth.

It pressed down on her tongue and Gemma nearly gagged on it with how far back it reached. She held still as her brother figured out how to fasten and tighten the straps, pulling them only tight enough to keep the muzzle snugly on her face. She wasn’t upset with him, she reassured herself. He had no choice in what he was doing and there were a million worse avenues that prompt could have taken them down.

When he stood and walked back away from her, she tested the give on the muzzle, working her jaw and finding she could hardly open it. But the metal gave her something other than her own teeth to bite down on. She just prayed it wouldn’t come that far even though she knew, deep down, that it already had.

Next part

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ellaofoakhill · 3 years

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Oak and Stone, Part Three

“I’m sorry.”

Ella glanced at Meline. For the first time that night, she seemed downcast. “Whatever for?”

Meline glanced up at her. “Tonight was supposed to be a lovely time for you. And you had to remember something horrible from your past.”

Ella gave Meline’s elbow a squeeze. “You couldn’t have known I’d encountered a dragon. They don’t wander onto Fey often.”

“Still…” Meline’s head flopped against Ella’s shoulder. Ella took one finger, poked the side of Meline’s head, and propped it up. When it started to fall over again, Ella leaned with it, so they both almost fell over. A weak smile turned up the corners of Meline’s mouth.

“You’ve shown me a world I never knew existed,” Ella said. As they stood there, music started playing down the street. Ella swept her arm up and around, and offered a hand to Meline. “Care to dance?” Some colour returned to Meline’s cheeks. She took the offered hand, and Ella settled her other on Meline’s waist.

In the warm night air, as fey and drakles and creatures strolled by, they danced. Ella was confident Meline could dance better than her, by the way her feet pranced over the cobbles.

A few others joined in, and then a few more. Soon the whole street was full of dancing and laughing. The light of the stars and fireflies glittered in the jewels in Meline’s hair.

The music eventually ended. The crowd clapped and cheered, and tossed coins and shells to the band. Ella and Meline both made sure a few found their way into the hat of the drakle who had so skillfully played the lute.

“There’s one last place I’d like to show you,” Meline said. The spark was back in her eye.

“Lead on,” Ella said.

The path they took turned and twisted through the streets. They were back along the waterfront. There were fewer ships and more boats here. Taverns and pubs crowded the way, as did their boisterous patrons. Sea shanties floated over the water.

“Are we going to a bar?”

Meline gave her a baffled look. “Oh. No, my favourite bookshop’s just up the way. It has some books I thought you might like.”

“It’s in the middle of all this?”

“The shop was here long before the taverns.”

“Does it have any history books?”

“Of course.”

Ella raised her eyebrows. “Geography?”

“At least one whole shelf of atlases.”

Ella hardly dared to hope. “Any p… poetry?”

“It wouldn’t be a bookshop if it didn’t.”

Ella suppressed a squeal. “Let’s go!”

There was indeed a shop of blue-grey stone with a slate roof a block from the water. Ella suspected the architect of a certain quirkiness, as the building was in the shape of a tower with four floors.

Every single window was dark.

Meline snapped her fingers. “Mr. Oldview’s usually grabbing lunch about now! He’s usually at… the Wobbly Swallow? It’s back the way we came, let’s go grab him.”

Ella was having a hard time keeping up with her. “Should we bother him while he’s eating?”

“He’s never minded before,” Meline said. “For a fellow bookworm, he’d honk the Fey Queen’s nose.” Ella could not imagine the motivation that would compel her to honk said nose.

They arrived outside a tavern with a sign depicting a swallow flying maneuvers that could generously be described as loops. It was one of the louder establishments on the waterfront.

“Would you like to wait out here?” Meline said. “I should only be a minute.”

“I’ll be along the wharf.” As Meline stepped inside Ella walked out onto the docks. A four-masted ship was anchored at the end of the pier.

The harbour was actually a strait, separating one seamount from the other. Ella found the two moons in the sky just then—one blue, one red—different, and there was more purple in the sky than she was used to. But the seashore night had the same hush, and the waves were comforting as they buffeted against stone. Even the shanties added to the quiet, rising and falling on the tide.

“Can we help ya dere, b’ye?” Ella turned around. A quartet of sailors were rolling up the dock toward her.

“Just taking the night air,” Ella said.

“Ah, well, noo,” the speaker, a squat hedgehog with a red vest and a headband tying back his spines, “This ‘ere’s our ship, an’ we don’ take kindly t’ any old fool gittin’ too near ’n’ dear wi’ her, see?” His fellow sailors, a drakle, a squirrel, and a rat, were all chuckles.

Ella raised her hands. “Shall I find another pier, then?”

“Aye, be off wi’ ye,” the hedgehog said, swaggering more with every word for no particular reason. Ella was almost past them when the squirrel spoke. “Wait.”

Ella stopped, and turned around. “Do you need something?”

“Fer all we know, you coulda been aboard aready and swiped awr swag.” She puffed up. “We just made port, see, and haven’t unloaded at market yet.”

“Do you not lock up your hold?” Ella looked from one to another. “Or keep a sentry on the boat to guard your valuables?”

They went a bit slack-jawed as Ella posed these complicated questions. The drakle spoke in a violent-sounding tongue.

“I think Cap’n does lock the lower hold when we tuck in. Yer right, Scrafty,” the rat said. She sounded the soberest of the four.

“I’ll tell you what, then,” Ella said, taking a seat on a coil of rope. “How about I sit here with three of you, and the fourth checks the hold and makes sure nothing’s been taken?”

“Oi’ll go,” the hedgehog said, fixing Ella with a beady black eye. He swaggered up the gangplank. There was a click, and a thunk of wood on wood, a muffled curse, and the sound of claws clicking on stairs fading into the ship.

“How long have you all been sailing together?” Ella asked.

“’Bout six months, now,” the rat said. Ella was fairly sure the caution in her manner was due more to Ella being a stranger than anything.

“Shh!” the squirrel said. “This ‘un might be a thief, Shara. She is a metal fairy, after all.”

Ella decided not to take offense. “Do we have a reputation?”

The squirrel shrugged. “Metal fairies like metal. ‘m I wrong?”

“We do,” Ella said. “We usually like to work metal, though.” She looked at Scrafty. “Do you know Arthur Bronzemonger? I just met him tonight, and I dare say he might be better than I am.”

“You know Bronzemonger?” the rat, Shara, said. The respect in her voice bordered on reverence.

“As does half of Nidd,” the squirrel said, “You’ll have to do better than—”

“Kelly, yer lamp!” the hedgehog thundered down the gangplank, almost falling as he came. “Yer lamp’s nicked!”

Ella sighed under her breath. She gathered her legs under her ever so slightly as the group turned to her.

“That lamp,” Kelly said, running a hand through her bushy tail, “was willed me by my late great aunt. It was bronze with a gorgeous niello and onyx inlay, and I dare say would fetch a fine price.”

“You may search my things to your heart’s content,” Ella said, “but you won’t find your lamp on me.”

“Lads,” Shara said, “when was the last time you heard of anyone callin’ a fairy a thief and things goin’ well for ‘em?”

“Shut it!” the hedgehog said, smacking one fist into the other. “Oi been spoilin fer a jaw-knocker all night, an Oi ain’ afraid ah no greedy fairy!”

No knives, Ella thought to herself as she rose. At least not yet. She raised her hands, and decided kicking the coil of rope at them and running might be her best move.

“What is going on here?” The dock suddenly grew much brighter. Ella lifted her eyes, and thought she saw a dozen fireflies clustered together. They sounded an awful lot like Meline.

As she came closer, the bright orange lights turned out to be the gems in her hair. There was also one in her hand. The four sailors stepped out from between the two fairies.

“Ah, Ella,” she said, relief plain on her face. “I wondered where you’d gotten to.”

“Just enjoying the night, Meline. Did you find—”

“M-Me-Me-Meline?” The hedgehog’s voice rose a few octaves.

“Of Wild Rose, yes,” Meline said. Was her voice a shade sweeter than normal?

“Oh! How about that, lads!” Shara had a foot on the gangplank, “the Wild Rose!”

Ella believed, under their fur and scales, they’d all blanched. The hedgehog, all too eager to get as far from Ella as he could, backpedalled and flopped over the coil of ropes. Two things happened at that moment. First, Meline’s gems flashed like lightning. Then, as he thumped against the ropes, there was a second thump as something flew out of the hedgehog’s vest.

Meline stepped forward. No one else moved; none of the sailors so much as breathed. Meline walked past the hedgehog, and picked up the fallen object. She stood, regarding it for a moment. Then she turned around.

“This is a beautiful lamp,” she said. Her voice was definitely sweeter. “The niello stands out so vividly against the bronze, and… is this onyx?”

Four heads, Ella’s included, looked at the lamp, and then the hedgehog. He looked like he wanted to gulp, but just couldn’t summon the courage.

She set the lamp in the hedgehog’s hand. “You should take better care of your things. This deserves a special place in your cabin, not a dirty pocket. Wouldn’t you say?”

The hedgehog nodded so vigorously his neck cracked.

“I was just going to finish a quiet evening with my guest,” she patted him on the shoulder, “so if you’ll excuse us, we must be going.” She got up, curtsied more prettily than Ella had yet seen, and walked back up the pier. She stopped, offering Ella her arm, and a most coquette smile.

“I hope you weren’t waiting too long,” Meline said as they passed the door to the Wobbly Swallow. The last of the glow was fading from her gems. “Mr. Oldview’s at the shop opening up for us.”

“Oh, that was nice of him.” A moment’s pause. “Meline—”

“Stories get blown out of proportion sometimes.” She grinned. “I’ll tell you when you’re older.”

Ella laughed.

It had been a while since Ella had bought so many books. Two atlases of Nidd, a bestiary, and volumes 1, 2, and 3 of a Fey translation of Coalheap’s Compendium of Niddling Poetics. She was unapologetically skipping back up the mountain.

“So,” Meline said as they crested the slope—she had a several volumes of storied drawings— “did you enjoy yourself?”

“Immensely,” Ella replied. “I shall have to visit Art a few times. Maybe trade secrets with him.”

Meline chuckled. “Glad I could make that connection.”

Ella sensed a different quality to the quiet between them as they passed through the undergrowth.

“Enjoy your visit?” Jasper said as they approached the stone. Meline nodded.

“It’s a whole new world out there,” Ella said with a smile.

“Never heard that one before,” Jasper said. The fly tied to his wrist buzzed about them, then settled back down. “Seems all’s in order. If you’ll step on the platform.”

Once again Jasper tapped the platform with his staff, the platform blazed with light, Ella felt weightless, and then she was back on the ground.

The air smelled of long grass and earth. There was no salt in the air. And the sky was its familiar blue.

“We’re home.” Meline sounded almost disappointed.

Ella fell in step beside her. “Are you alright?” she asked as they walked out from among the cairns.

“Oh. Yeah,” Meline looked toward her house, and then to the yard. “I suppose we’re even now.” She curtsied; even that was lacklustre.

Ella thought a moment. “You know, I don’t believe ‘even’ is the right word.” Meline looked up. “I think we’re friends.”

Ella hadn’t stopped to watch a flower bloom in a thousand years.

“Shall I send Coarser around sometime, and give you a proper tour of Oakhill?” The words were out before Ella realized she’d said them. She did not regret it.

Meline’s cheeks darkened. “Y-yes.” She curtsied again, a lively thing. “Of course. That’d be nice. Well,” she fidgeted with one of her gems, “until we meet again.”

Ella was about to step forward, but Meline already had her hand, and kissed it. “Until we meet again,” Ella said, a bit stupefied.

As she walked home, Ella said to herself, “I shall have to clean the hall.”

#the fairy tales of ella and meline #tftem #oak and stone part 3 #chapter 8 #my original work #fantasy #lgbtq+#fairies #iyashikei #healing #fairy tales #romance #all ages #fey #fae #magic #family #strong female protagonists #backyard fantasy

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sophisticated-angel · 7 years

Text

A True Love of Mine - Part 2

Character: Sam Winchester

Warning: Nudity (skinny dipping, non descriptive)

Word Count: 2,080

Pairing: Sam x Reader

Part One

Summary: A new friend of Sam’s saw enough of his interaction with the baron’s daughter to know that he’s got a great big crush on the girl. He encourages him - or doesn’t - to break a few rules. That night, Sam spends an hour or two falling farther for this beautiful, fourteenth century maiden.

Story:

“I am so screwed.”

When the baron’s daughter disappears around a hedge, Sam’s whole body releases a load of tension. He hadn’t realized she took his breath away.

“Has milady set your heart aflutter, Future Man?” inquires an Irish voice. Thomas comes around a bend wearing a boyish smile.

Sam jumps to his feet, snatching the flower crown from his head. “Thomas! Um, how much of that did you see?”

“Enough. She’s a right bellibone, that one. Prettier when she’s happy. It’s good to see milady smilin’ again.”

In the week they’ve known each other, Sam and Thomas have formed a friendship. The senior stable hand, a decade younger than Sam, is a proud Irishman. He keeps his curly black hair tied back in a haphazard bun at the nape of his neck but is “cursed” with a mostly smooth face. He’s convinced the ladies would flock to him if only he could grow a beard. After learning that Sam possessed very little knowledge about horses, he took it upon himself to teach him how to ride one – the lessons are half instruction, half crippling laughter – and he’s honestly made it easier for Sam to adjust. So comfortable is Sam with his new friend that he told the truth about when and where he came from. Thomas didn’t believe him but didn’t treat the news as anything other than an opportunity. Now Sam responds to the nickname “Future Man”.

“Does she not smile very much?” Sam wonders.

“Not since that man o’ hers died. I’ll tell ye, laddie, I’ve not seen milady smile at anyone near as much as she smiles at you. It would seem milady harbors a bit o’ feelin’ for Future Man.”

“I doubt it.”

“I don’t. And I don’t think I’d notice if one o’ the horses went missin’ for the night.” Thomas adjusts his sleeve cuffs.

“Are you saying I should sneak out with Lord Brickenden’s daughter?”

“I’m not sayin’ anythin’ except ye canna’ hear Alexander when he runs, milady’s quarters are on the second floor at the end o’ the hall, and the maids wake up with the sun.”

“This is a very dangerous idea.”

“I don’t know what ideas ye be havin’, Future Man.”

Sam chuckles. “Thomas, I think I like you.”

“If only the lasses thought like ye.” Thomas sighs. “Come on, then. We’ve yet to give the horses their supper.”

For the rest of the day, Sam devises a plan for when night falls. The house servants won’t go to bed until their duties have been completed, and by then the baron and (y/n) will have been asleep for a couple of hours. He can pick the kitchen door lock with his pocketknife and slip into the manor that way, but he’ll have to take care not to wake up Emeline, the cook. Then it’s a matter of finding (y/n), waking her and keeping her from crying out, and sneaking her out of the house, to the stables, and riding away for a night trip. There’s also the fear of being rejected and of Thomas being wrong about (y/n), but Sam has to trust his friend knows a thing or two about his mistress.

After the other stable hands have gone to bed, Sam saddles Alexander – a big chestnut thoroughbred a few years past his prime who wouldn’t hurt a fly. This particular horse is quite fond of Sam, probably because he doesn’t watch the treats very well.

“Can you keep a secret, Alexander?” Sam asks the horse, stroking his nose. “There’s extra carrots in it for you.”

Alexander nickers.

When the last candle he can see goes out, Sam estimates that it’s about midnight. He enters stealth mode and slips in through the kitchen, past Emeline, and up the stairs. This manor is one of the biggest homes he’s ever snuck into, and the wood floors are unpredictably creaky, but he makes it up to the second floor without running into or waking anybody up. Carefully, he pushes open the door at the end of the hall, steps inside, and finds the baron’s daughter asleep in a canopy bed.

The woman lies on her back, hair loose and fanned out across the pillow, head tilted to one side, her hand resting near her face, looking for all the world exactly the way every woman in every romance novel is described as sleeping. Even the moonlight owns its cliché and illuminates her pretty features. Sam could watch her sleep all night, but he decides that sneaking into her room and watching her sleep is far creepier than sneaking into her room and waking her up. Besides, Alexander is all excited by the prospect of a journey. Creeping forward, he gently shakes her awake and puts a finger to his lips when she shoots upright and gasps.

“What are you doing in my room?” she whispers.

“When was the last time you broke a rule?” Sam whispers back.

A grin creeps across the woman’s face. “What are you thinking, Sir Winchester?”

Sam offers her his hand, pulling her from her bed. She doesn’t bother to fix up her hair or get dressed but follows him willingly in her white chemise and bare feet. He leads her down the stairs and back through the kitchen, past Emeline, and beyond the courtyard to the stables. Alexander picks his ears up when he sees his favorite stable hand.

(y/n) looks at the horse and asks, “Are you kidnapping me?”

“Only for an hour or two.”

He offers her his hand again, this time to help her up onto Alexander’s back, and then he climbs on behind her. He hasn’t had much practice on a horse and so feels extremely awkward in this situation, but if his steed senses his rider’s lack of confidence, he either doesn’t care or has too big a heart to take advantage of it. Squeezing his legs, Sam spurs the horse into a steady walk.

Thomas was right about Alexander. The thoroughbred is gifted with feet as quiet as an owl’s wings, and the iron shoes barely click on the stone path. They ride around the manor and the servants’ quarters, giving both a wide berth, and follow the edge of the garden. Once they reach grass, Sam clicks his tongue, and Alexander breaks into a trot, carrying them along the forest path Sam followed a week ago until they reach the clearing with the pond he fell into. Here, Sam halts Alexander, gets himself and (y/n) down, and ties the reins to a sapling at the edge of the clearing.

“What will we do out here?” (y/n) asks.

“I, uh, I’m not sure,” Sam admits. “I hadn’t thought this far ahead.”

The woman studies him for a second, and then, much to Sam’s surprise, pulls off her chemise. Sam learns that fourteenth century women don’t wear underwear and quickly looks away.

“What are you doing?” he manages.

“I’m going to swim,” she says matter-of-factly. “Will you join me?”

“That’s not appropriate.”

“No one is around.” Then she cocks her head and lifts her eyebrows. “You can swim, can’t you?”

Sam scoffs. “I can swim.”

“Then come on.”

(y/n) turns and steps into the water, wading out until it comes up to her chest. She grins and beckons the very confused, very conflicted man on the shore with a delicate finger. Sam shifts anxiously, very much wanting to get in the water now. Gathering up courage, he strips off his own clothes behind a patch of reed and steps into the pond. Because of the lateness of the hour, the water is much cooler than his first experience, and goosebumps rise all over his skin. By the time he reaches the very beautiful, very naked woman, he’s adjusted to the temperature. She smiles at him and loops her arms around his neck, pulling him down until their foreheads touch.

“If you want to break rules,” she says, “then we shall break rules.”

Sam’s heart stops when she kisses him. Her lips are as soft and as warm as her smile. He caresses her shoulders, rests his hands on her wet skin, and falls deeply, hopelessly in love with her. All feelings of awkwardness and impropriety evaporate, and he smiles into the kiss.

For a while they play games in the water, childish things like splashing one another, hiding in the reeds, and trying to catch the toads and frogs they disturb. A fish brushes against (y/n)’s leg and startles her right into Sam’s arms, and he becomes her valiant knight. They take turns scooping handfuls of muck from the bottom and picking through it to find interesting little shells and stones. When they get tired, they stretch out on the grass and let the warm night air dry them, skin to skin, her head on his chest, one finger drawing lazy patterns on his ribs.

“Who are you, Sam Winchester?” she asks. “I know very little about you. Where do you come from?”

“A place you’ve never heard of and will never go.”

“Why must you be so mysterious? What is the name of this place?”

“You wouldn’t believe me if I told you.”

She sighs, disappointed. “Tell me about your family, then. I assume you have one?”

“Only a brother.” Then he thinks, and he’s looking for me. It’s been a week since he disappeared from his own time. Dean and Castiel have no idea when or where he is, not unless they’ve captured the angel and made him talk, and what has he done with his time? Fallen in love with a girl who will be dead six centuries before he’s even an idea. But what else is he supposed to do? Asking around about magic is likely to get him killed or run out of town, and Lord Brickenden has given him a job and a place to sleep. At least here he’s safe and has the company of a beautiful woman.

“You have no one else? What happened?”

“They’re all dead, mostly.”

“Do you miss your brother?”

Sam nods, feeling a small lump form in his throat. “Yes.”

After a moment, (y/n) continues. “I had a brother. He died in a jousting tournament when I was twelve.”

“I’m sorry.”

“I don’t remember him well. He was a knight and lived in the king’s castle. Father was so very proud of him. I thought he would never recover from his death. My family sounds much like yours. Many dead.”

“Who else have you lost?”

“An older sister when I was fifteen and a younger sister when I was six. She died when she was a baby and took our mother with her.”

Hearing this makes Sam feel terrible for her, and yet her voice carries very little sadness. She says all of this like she hasn’t lost so much, so many people she loved and was old enough to remember. He supposes it comes with living in the fourteenth century. Sanitation is poor, disease runs rampant, and even the most modern medicine is primitive, sometimes even nothing more than superstition.

“Father is eager for me to marry,” she continues. “He wants for someone to take care of me should some misfortune befall him, and if I don’t continue my family’s bloodline, no one else will.”

“Do you want to continue it?” asks Sam.

“I must.”

“I asked if you want to.”

She’s quiet for a moment. “I don’t have a choice . . . but I do want to marry someone I love and see him in our children. Father is always inviting knights and merchants and sons of other barons hoping I will choose one of them, but I have not fallen in love yet.”

Stirring, she sits up and looks out over the pond. Sam sits up as well, leaning in to kiss her neck, and he strokes her damp hair. At the edge of the clearing, Alexander has long since grown bored and dozed off with his back leg cocked.

“We should go back,” Sam murmurs.

Silently, they put their clothes back on and mount a sleepy Alexander who lazily carries them back to the manor. Sam escorts (y/n) back into her home and up to her bedroom door. He bids her goodnight and turns to leave.

She grabs his sleeve. “Would you like to break one more rule, Sam?”

His expression must say it all because she smiles and pulls him into her room.

READ PART THREE HERE

@pureawesomeness001 @27bmm @jarpadandjensenaremyheroes @super-not-naturall @gabriel-themightysugaraddict @mogaruke @mrswhozeewhatsis@hexparker @kdfrqqg @little-castiel13 @18crazybutcutealsopsycho @wildfirewinchester

#supernatural #sam winchester #a true love of mine #medieval!sam #medieval!reader #reader insert #x-reader #series #part two #sophisticated-angel

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singingpeople · 7 years

Text

Paying the price

Chapter 15

@pathybo @jojuarez26 @tigpooh67 @beautifulramblingbrains @jaiboomer11 @lets-play-truth-or-dare @carefultheyspit @love17mwh

@iammarylastar @bookwarm85 @deepfrz

Important: This chapter is wholly unedited, so it may be terrible spelling & sentence wording & all that stuff. But I´m writing from my brother´s PC because the ventilation system of my new one broke down today, making it sound as if he´ll explode anytime soon. I won´t have my brother´s PC very often because he needs it for writing his master thesis & when I have to send mine in (hopefully it´s a guarantee case) I have no idea when I will get it back. Still, I´ll try to make it work with the updates & all :) This chapter is really rough, but bare with me it will get better very soon, I promise! :) Thank you for reading & all the reviews, I´ll try to edit it tomorrow if my brother doesn’t need it! :)

Time is an abstract thing if you think about it. Sometimes it is as if no time at all passed while at other times, it just flies by you, blurring your memories until you don’t remember what day it is or what you did yesterday. For a minute you lose yourself, cease to exist while you feel like walking through honey, your limbs heavy while the world around you is spinning on and on. You are rooted to the spot while everything around you spirals out of control, being so stuck in your own universe that you´de indifferent to the happenings around you, only moments stand out, colorful specks in a world of full of grey.

Have you ever looked down at your own hand, moving your fingers, watching every single muscle contract while asking yourself if this is really your body if this is all you are. All you will ever be. Just a mass of skin and bones that is condemned to walk on this earth until you finally bite the dust.

Or do you ever feel like standing beside yourself, not being the person in control of your own body. You watch them going through their daily chores like machines, your mind so far away from the empty shell that is considered being alive because it breathes, that only a flicker of pain can bring you back.

I ask myself if someone else ever felt the way I do now. If anyone in this damn city feels everything, every single emotion at once while feeling nothing at all. If their breathing becomes forced the moment they feel the panic rising in their chest until it overwhelms them, consuming them alive but still don´t show any signs of being nervous. If the people in their lives don´t notice it because those people have become so good at acting, always so collected, so calm as if nothing ever bothers them or if the humans that are supposed to support them just don´t care. Maybe they don´t realize they're the exact the opposite of calm and indifferent. They care, maybe too much and about everything. About how to overcome the struggle their facing, if they are worth loving or if they should stop trying at all because, in the end, their struggle will have been in vain. Like always.

Are there walking paradoxes like I am one, a person that is consumed by their fear while simultaneously feeling nothing at all, or am I just crazy?

All I know is, that I was lying in that bed for days, my hands at one point restricted, limiting my movements to the bare minimum, at another free again, giving me the chance to curl up, the fetus position acting as a shield against the world. There were people. Sitting on my bed, trying to talk to me or worse, touching me. I did my best to ignore them and their obnoxious babbling, but it followed me into my dreams, their voices echoing through the empty space that was my mind.

There were also needles piercing my skin, right after living through a very vivid memory that was playing in an endless loop, like a broken tape. Every time I felt myself coming out of what felt like cotton candy clouding my head and got more lively, something cool would touch the back of my hand and I was gone once again, drifting in and out of consciousness.

Funny, I always thought I knew what it felt like to stand beside myself, but in this state, it was so much worse. Every second seemed to last an eternity while hours flew by in a blink of the eye. I knew they had all been here, my mother, Tris, the twins and even Ivy and Avery. But despite Dante not once showing up, his voice telling me that everything would be okay followed me into these strange dreams, lightening the burden I carried with me for at least a little, just for a second making it easier to breathe.

I also knew, that dad always stayed outside the room, only getting a short briefing from the nurse before disappearing again. From one of these conversations that ended in a screaming fit of him, I concluded they had found traces of the fear serum in my bloodstream. Guess now I know where that vivid memory of hot burning iron marring my skin came from.

I came to the conclusion that they had planned this, Edgar had planned this. It was a simple concept, really. Something an erudite could think of. Their methods of calculated mental torturing had me thinking of the scruffy cat I found playing with a little bird when I was on my way home from school. She always gave it the chance to escape, drawing her claws back to created the illusion that the little sparrow was free to leave. The bird, scared as it was always hopped away, not realizing that his eagerness to get away and survive was exactly, what the cat wanted, what it craved. The prey running away from its predator was, what the cat considered fun, the chase what was so thrilling. To crush any hope it may have by capturing it over and over again until it got finally got boring. That was the moment the cat showed mercy and killed it with one bite, ending its agony. The final kill wasn't the satisfying part, it had been the chase, the diminishing of every ounce of hope it may have still had. That was, what got the cat off.

In the end, I would suffer the same fate like this bird. I just wished Edgar and his minions would get it over with and kill me before someone else dear to me would pay the price for being a part of my life. Like Dante almost had.

If he had died in that alleyway, right before my eyes, my life would have been over. Being the cause of one person's death was worse enough, but adding another life to that list would have effectively caused my own demise. My real breaking point, as if I wasn’t pathetic enough right now. It would have been easier than breaking a window in one of those countless crumbling skyscrapers in the heart of the city. Only one stone, for me one bullet to shatter the fragile resistance we still managed to muster.

Yeah, life is an abstract thing, not tangible for the human mind, while love, which is just hormones going crazy inside our heads creating hallucinations, isn’t something for everyone. It certainly isn’t for me. I either end up hurting the people dearest to me in the worst way possible or they die, maybe even both. It was simple as that. No, loving someone and being loved in return was never something that would be granted to me. And as long those around me were happy living their lives, I would go gladly through mine. Alone, until the bite of death would wipe my mortal existence from the face of the earth, until everything that remained was a faint echo of pain and the stardust I was created from restored to its original condition.

The week I spent in the infirmary was one big blur, partly through the meds I was given, partly by the daze that left my whole body numb and my mind fuzzy. In hindsight, everything seemed a little clearer, now that the sedatives didn´t turn my brain into useless mush, but I also knew what I had to do. I knew it from the moment the first gunshot rang through the air, almost killing the one person I wanted to stay out of the shitshow I call live. If being associated with me was a death sentence, I would reduce the number of people in my life to the bare minimum. And that meant only mom.

She had spent the whole time by my side head buried in countless files, only leaving when someone else would come to watch over me. Most of the time their voices faded into background noises while I stared at the white wallpaper, barely blinking. For days. Internalizing every swirl and bump into the wall, I tried to make it easier for them to leave. The moment they would realize I was already a dead man walking was be the moment, they would finally leave me be. Leave me to resign to my fate.

The last string in my heart was ripped apart when Tris thought it would be a good idea to bring Sam to my room. Something to cheer me up she said. Being convinced I couldn’t feel any longer, the sharp pain in my chest when I turned my back towards them, moving for the first time that day, was almost a pleasant sensation. Reminding me that I wasn’t dead yet.

Getting the hint, my aunt left again immediately, trying to explain Sam what was wrong with me when she asked, her voice as curious, as it was sad. Curled up under my blanket that mom specially brought from home I asked myself if she would remember me in the years to come. Maybe it would be better if she didn’t, you couldn't miss what you didn't know, right? But still, I selfishly wished for it.

After six days that felt like six weeks, I was discharged and sent my way, with a bottle of pills I was supposed to take if I felt anxious or homicidal. Maybe if I sneaked some of them into dad´s food, just a pill or two he would let loose for a day. The thought of him running around in the compound like an amity on peace serum almost made me smile. Almost.

The majority of the time home I spent in my old room, lying in my bed, staring at the wall. Instead of white, this one was a dark grey, almost black. The only burst of colors being the flames that symbolized everything I wasn’t. Our manifesto told us to fight our fears, no matter the cost of it. It certainly seemed as if I´d lost my sanity trying to do just that, my happiness long gone so it should count at least for something. Thinking of our manifest, I was sure that I would also always stand up for people, maybe even shout for them if I could. But I would never be free from my fears, from the demons that haunted me. They would always control my actions. How cowardly. And because my faction thought this cowardice was to blame for the world's injustice and that the bravery, I didn´t possess, is considered the most important virtue of them all, it is safe to say I have failed my faction before I was even a part of it. That sums my life up perfectly.

After three of four days of peaceful serenity, dad suddenly came storming into the room, the door slamming against the door, declaring he had enough of it. His face contorted in anger, his eyes blazing fire like they always did before he ended the life of a poor soul. Not being able to help the small sliver of fear, I blinked, trying to scoop away from him, cowering away in the corner of my bed. But he wasn’t having any of it.

Grabbing my wrists, dad wasn´t faced at all by my resistance and dragged me to the bathroom, basically pulling me after him while I stemmed my feet into the floor with all my strength. But it just took him one powerful pull to make me stumble into him. Sensing his chance, dad threw me over his shoulder marching into the bathroom. When he turned on the water I knew exactly what he was planning and I tried my best to get him to put me down, hitting his back with my fists. And then he did.

Grabbing my waist, he heaved me from his shoulder before pushing me directly under the ice-cold water, not giving a damn that I was gasping for air, still dressed in leggings and a shirt or that I was basically freezing to death after only three seconds under the stream.

“You have ten minutes before I want you dressed, ready for training.” With that he was gone, the bathroom door of my en suite slamming shut behind him as I scrambled for the temperature regulator, turning the water scolding hot before peeling the heavy clothes off me.

Like dad demanded, I was done in under ten minutes but instead of waiting for him, I just stormed out of the apartment while he was busy doing something in his study. If he wants me gone, fine. I have no problem with leaving when I know I´m not wanted. But I won´t hang around him all day, listening to how a perfect dauntless would behave. Not today.

It was already evening, the whole day had passed in a blur while I sat hidden away in an alcove on one of the lower levels of the chasm. The way down there was reclusive, only known to a few and I was one of them.

The sound of water crashing against rock always caused a strange sense of tranquility to wash over me, but with it came also the numbness, the little spark of anger and defiance from this morning gone as soon as it came.

How many days of training I had missed, including this one, I had no idea but I knew, dad would skin me alive as soon as he´d get his hands on me. So my hiding game had to be strong.

Lost in thought, I hadn’t realized how much my back and butt really hurt from sitting on cold, wet stone the whole day but standing up, I almost toppled over. In the last second before falling I managed to regain my balance, swaying on my wobbly feet. Not quite good so close to a hole filled with water that swallowed everyone and everything up, unless you were suicidal. And, I wasn’t yet at that point of my life.

After having scaled the steep pathway, I thought about where to go now. It must have been close to midnight, the white light being replaced by blue, solar powered ones. Going to the dorms, jut like going home wasn´t an option. But since sleep avoided me ever since leaving the infirmary and without the meds, I was content spending my night somewhere I could let my mind wander around, without having to worry about people seeing me.

Letting my feet carry me wherever they wanted, my mind was still reeling about everything and nothing at once. Stopping short, I found myself in front of the training room that whispered for me to step in. Opening the heavy steel doors I did just that. My feet dragging over the rubber floor I soon faced the door of the small chamber in the back. Slowly extending my hand, I pushed this one open too, the memories rushing into my head as soon as I smelled the familiar scent of leather mats, gunpowder and sweat overwhelming me to such an extent I had to support myself on the threshold.

Closing my eyes, I stumbled inside before sinking down on the mats, a few feet away from where Dante and I had first become one. Reliving all the passionate kisses and shared laughter while he sunk himself into me over and over again I found myself reminiscing the first happy memory since landing in the infirmary. The ache in my chest getting almost unbearable. Happiness to have been granted such a special moment in my life. Sadness because there wouldn´t be any more of them. No more stolen kisses or passionate nights, no more covert glances or breathless laughter.

Folding my hands, I pressed them against my chest, drawing in a shaky breath because right in that moment, I could almost see him looking down at me with these warm brown eyes. I could feel his hands traveling across my bare skin, igniting every nerve ending in my body. His smell had been manly, the scent of his sweat not overpowering despite him training the whole day. I could even fucking taste him, his lips moving against mine and I knew he must have been chewing a gum before we kissed, his breath all minty. All these sensations after weeks of numbness were just too much for me. Pressing my palms against my eyes, I rocked back and forth trying to get my composure back. But it was futile.

Slapping my hand against my forehead, I tried harder, almost desperately when suddenly the door to the little chamber was thrown open and he wasn’t any longer a figment of my imagination.

Letting himself fall to his knees beside me, Dante pulled my head up, his hands on either side of my cheeks. His gaze frantically flitting over my face, he let out a relieved breath the moment he realized I was fine, before pulling me into his chest. He laid his chin on my hair and I could feel him taking a deep breath, his arms pulling me even closer to him. “Thank fuck, Lexi! We have been searching for you the whole goddamn day. Your family is going nuts, especially your father.” Letting out an incredulous chuckle, I felt him press his face into my hair, exhaling deeply. “Fuck. I thought something happened to you. Don´t ever do this to me again!”

Having almost forgotten what I had promised myself, I melted into him for a second reveling in the tranquility his touch brought. But then I froze up, not believing I had thrown all my cautions into the wind like this. Like I wouldn’t be the cause of his doom. Instantly feeling something was wrong, Dante drew back a little, looking down at me with worried eyes that tore my soul apart. Not having it in me to withstand him even a second longer, I did was I was best in. I ran.

Pushing him away with all the force I could muster, I was out the door before he could even get up again. But as I sprinted towards the doors leading out of the training room as fast as I could, I realized the lack of sleep and most importantly food had drained my powers. How much exactly, I had to find out when Dante suddenly grabbed by my wrists only inches away from the door and whirled me around, slamming us against the wall beside it.

“Forget it. Not again.” Dante was hovering over me, his muscular body caging me against the wall like he had done so many times before, his breathing ragged. And for the first time, he looked almost angry, his eyes hard and I shrank back, the fury boiling under the surface such a foreign sensation coming from him. “Do you really think I would just let you run away again? Just look where it took us last time!”

Lowering my head in shame, I stared at our chests that were pressed against each other, both heaving heavily. Yes, it had been my fault. My fault he was shot, my fault for freaking out. My fault for making everything worse by mindlessly running after a bunch of guys, I knew wanted nothing more than to kill me.

“Hey.” Dante grabbed my chin, but I tried to push him away, not being able to deal with his proximity. To deal with him and everything he stood for. When my movements turned into real struggling, almost desperately trying to get away from him, Dante captured my hands, pressing them against the wall by my side, rendering me completely immobile. “Lexi, stop it.” When I didn’t, he grabbed both of my wrists in one hand, raising my head with his other. But I lowered my eyes, avoiding his questioning gaze. “Look, I´m sorry for not visiting you in the infirmary but your mother was always there, your brother had me handling the other dauntless-born 24/7 and when I finally had an hour off, I had to deal with the consequences of the patrol debacle. I really tried, though...”

Trailing off, Dante tilted his head, his lips barely brushing over my cheek. Despite wanting to revel in the feeling of his stubbly face against mine and melt into his embrace to forget everything around us once more, I turned my head. Away from his touch, from everything I ever craved. Freezing up, it took Dante a moment before he drew back and from the corner of my eye, I could see him muster me intently. But I stared straight ahead, matching the hurt that crossed his face with an indifferent expression, even though it send sharp jabs into my guts. “Lexi, what´s wrong?” No answer.

“Tell me, please...” After another minute without any reaction from me, Dante positioned his face right in front of mine, causing me to turn away again. He huffed incredulously and I heard it, despite it being so quiet. Not wanting to see the range of emotion my indifferent behavior caused, I closed my eyes willing him to just leave it be and leave me. But he didn’t. Slamming me against the wall once more, frustrated but still careful I wouldn’t get hurt, I cursed the loud, surprised breath that left my lips, not ever wanting him to think I was afraid of him. But I still felt him increasing the space between us so that our chests weren´t touching.

“I see that you obviously want nothing to do with me right now, Lexi. And I understand it, I totally do. After all, it was my fault you were there, right? That you ended up in the infirmary.”

Biting my lips in despair, I shook my head. He didn’t understand it, none of it. Especially not, that it was for his own good. Me wanting to end whatever we have had nothing to do with him taking me there. the incident just showed me what I had to do. For him.

“Alright, just tell me one thing.” Letting out a breath, I despised the resigned tone in his voice. It was the way everyone spoke to me before giving up for good. “Did you ever have any feelings for me? No matter how little they were, was there something?”

Snapping my head up, my wide eyes met his hooded ones for the first time this evening. Dante´s face was guarded, his brow furrowed but his eyes gave away the vulnerability he felt.

Heart rate speeding up, my breathing quickening I felt my chest constricting, my throat closing in. I would have never assumed Dante would ask such a question in a moment like this. And right now, it was freaking me the hell out. But it was also the opportunity I had waited for, hoped for. To cut him off, to end what could have been the beginning of a perfect relationship. The start of a fairytale where the prince saves his princess and shields her from every harm that may come her way while looking ridiculously good doing it.

But I had never been a princess and in the end, he would just die in the process of trying to save me. If from myself or Edgar, I had no idea... Dante was so much more than a tragic love story gone wrong. He was an amazing human being and had the potential to be great, to achieve something. To become a high ranking member, having a loving wife and maybe even children. The image of a brown haired little boy with Dante´s eyes running around in the compound took my breath away, my heart fracturing as I pictured him kissing some dauntless female on his way to work, while I spent the rest of my life alone. He´d have the perfect family. And I wouldn’t be part of it.

So despite my heart screaming at me to not do it and the knowledge that this would be the one moment in my life, I would never forgive myself for, I shook my head no. Telling him that I didn’t have any feelings for him. Never had and never will.

“Alright.” Nodding his head, before shaking it, Dante stepped back, letting go of my hands while huffing. Immediately the cold started to settle into my whole being, only the spots where his skin had touched mine still burning like fire. The disappointment and hurt in his eyes were so all-consuming that I had to look away, threatened to be swallowed whole.

He took more steps back, seemingly wanting to get space between as while he ran his hands through his hair, jaw gritted. Every inch of space between us enlarged the hole in my chest and I balled my hands into fists, preventing myself from running forward and cling to him. When Dante finally spoke, chuckling humorlessly as if he couldn’t believe I was such a bitch, his voice was croaky, sounding more than just pained. “Goodbye, Lexi.”

Without one last look, he was gone and I collapsed on the floor. Slinging my arms around myself, I hugged my knees to my chest rocking back and forth, gasping for breath as the hole in my chest seemed to double in size. He was gone, most likely for good, just like I wanted him. My plan had worked out perfectly. But for what price?

Why does doing the right thing hurt so fucking bad?

Sometimes you have to burn the bridges to prevent yourself from making the same mistake twice. And that what I was doing now.

Yesterday, the first day I had gone back to training and two days after Dante and I´s conversation, I almost lost my shit in front of the whole training room. Lyssa approached him, a sly smile on her lips claiming she needed extra training to keep up with the class. Dante hadn’t spared me one glance the whole day, not even uttering one word to me. Despite knowing it would be like this, it still hurt, especially when he told her it wasn’t a problem and smiled at her. A real, genuine smile. I tried to keep my face expressionless but it´s needless to say that my knuckles were almost black after training ended, the jealousy burning a hole through my whole body.

So here I was now, in the bar I first spotted him, trying to prevent myself from doing something utterly stupid by doing something equally stupid. Maybe it was even worse, at least for me. My mind was still reeling from everything that had happened the last few weeks, meeting someone, choosing dauntless, beginning a forbidden affair and ending it in less than a month. If someone ever said to me developing feelings for another person could happen so fast, I would have laughed outright into his face. But now I knew better and considering my stupid plan, I asked myself countless times if I was going nuts by really doing this.

I despised doing this, but I didn’t to pay Dante back, no not at all. But if he started to hate me it would be so much easier for the both of us. Not to mention that it would save him in the end. Because by not associating with me, the target on his back would be gone. And when they would finally get me, it would be so much easier on everyone surrounding me if they were able to tell themselves just how fucked up I really was and that they´re better off without me. Only the truth...

Ordering a shot from Sal who gave me a warm smile, I downed it, disgusted with the strong liquor and myself. But it certainly would take the edge off long enough.

I knew he was there, watching me. After all, I could feel his gaze on my back, causing shivers to erupt all over my body, especially when it started to trace the exposed skin on my neck, my whole body heating up under his scrutiny. Waiting on the barstool, I ordered myself another drink, so close to throwing it up when I suddenly, finally felt a pair of lips caressing my bare skin while two broad arms slung themselves around my waist. “Miss me?”

Turning around, I plastered a fake smile on my lips as I came face to face with a smug looking Freddy. He only pulled me closer to him, burying his face in my neck. Grimacing, I had to suppress the violent urge to push him away, only being able to control my face when I looked up to see two burning eyes watching me intently, condemning me into the depths of hell. Dante was standing on a higher floor of the bar, jaw clenched as he squeezed the neck of his beer bottle to death, while Freddy was peppering light kisses onto my skin. Hurriedly adverting my eyes, I forced my lips into what I hoped was a genuine smile, before I pushed Freddy back to give him a real kiss. He started to moan when his lips met mine, his hands immediately wandering to the small of my back while I was so repulsed by myself I had to keep the bile down, that was rising in my throat. Luckily, Freddy being the simple-minded guy he was, drew back fairly quick, his smile sickly smug while he pulled me from the chair and out of the club.

I knew that Dante had seen every second of this act and that I had succeeded in my mission. From now on, he would despite me with his whole being and I couldn't even be mad about it. When Freddy pulled me closer, slinging his arm around my waist I knew there was no going back to before this all happened. That small glimpse of joy I had been granted being the only happiness I would ever experience. And now knowing what it was like, letting go of it was even harder than it had been before. But I had made my choice.

The last bridge had been burned down.

#eric coulter #divergent #eric divergent #dauntless #daugther #dante #fanfiction #factionbeforeblood #favouritepsycho #family #paying the price #depressed #unedited

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Biologists Are Figuring Out How Cells Tell Left From Right

In 2009, after she was diagnosed with stage 3 breast cancer, Ann Ramsdell began to search the scientific literature to see if someone with her diagnosis could make a full recovery. Ramsdell, a developmental biologist at the University of South Carolina, soon found something strange: The odds of recovery differed for women who had cancer in the left breast versus the right. Even more surprisingly, she found research suggesting that women with asymmetric breast tissue are more likely to develop cancer.

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Original storyreprinted with permission from Quanta Magazine, an editorially independent division of theSimons Foundation whose mission is to enhance public understanding of science by covering research developments and trends in mathematics and the physical and life sciences

Asymmetry is not readily apparent. Yet below the skin, asymmetric structures are common. Consider how our gut winds its way through the abdominal cavity, sprouting unpaired organs as it goes. Or how our heart, born from two identical structures fused together, twists itself into an asymmetrical pump that can simultaneously push oxygen-rich blood around the body and draw in a new swig from the lungs, all in a heartbeat. The bodys natural asymmetry is crucially important to our well-being. But, as Ramsdell knew, it was all too often ignored.

In her early years as a scientist, Ramsdell never gave asymmetry much thought. But on the day of her dissertation defense, she put a borrowed slide into a projector (this in the days before PowerPoint). The slide was of a chick embryo at the stage where its heart begins to loop to one side. Afterward a colleague asked why she put the slide in backward. Its an embarrassing story, she said, but I had never even thought about the directionality of heart looping. The chicks developing heart could distinguish between left and right, same as ours. She went on to do her postdoctoral research on why the heart loops to one side.

Years later, after her recovery, Ramsdell decided to leave the heart behind and to start looking for asymmetry in the mammary glands of mammals. In marsupials like wallabies and kangaroos, she read, the left and the right glands produce a different kind of milk, geared toward offspring of different ages. But her initial studies of mice proved disappointingtheir left and right mammary glands didnt seem to differ at all.

The wrybill uses its laterally curved bill to reach insect larvae under rounded riverbed stones.Steve Atwood

Then she zoomed in on the genes and proteins that are active in different cells of the breast. There she found strong differences. The left breast, which appears to be more prone to cancer, also tends to have a higher number of unspecialized cells, according to unpublished work thats undergoing peer review. Those allow the breast to repair damaged tissue, but since they have a higher capacity to divide, they can also be involved in tumor formation. Why the cells are more common on the left, Ramsdell has not yet figured out. But we think it has to do with the embryonic environment the cells grow up in, which is quite different on both sides.

Ramsdell and a cadre of other developmental biologists are trying to unravel why the organisms can tell their right from left. Its a complex process, but the key orchestrators of the handedness of life are beginning to come into clearer focus.

A Left Turn

In the 1990s, scientists studying the activity of different genes in the developing embryo discovered something surprising. In every vertebrate embryo examined so far, a gene called Nodal appears on the left side of the embryo. It is closely followed by its collaborator Lefty, a gene that suppresses Nodal activity on the embryos right. The Nodal-Lefty team appears to be the most important genetic pathway that guides asymmetry, said Cliff Tabin, an evolutionary biologist at Harvard University who played a central role in the initial research into Nodal and Lefty.

But what triggers the emergence of Nodal and Lefty inside the embryo? The developmental biologist Nobutaka Hirokawa came up with an explanation that is so elegant we all want to believe it, Tabin said. Most vertebrate embryos start out as a tiny disk. On the bottom side of this disk, theres a little pit, the floor of which is covered in ciliaflickering cell extensions that, Hirokawa suggested, create a leftward current in the surrounding fluid. A 2002 study confirmed that a change in flow direction could change the expression of Nodal as well.

The twospot flounder lies on the seafloor on its right side, with both eyes on its left side.SEFSC Pascagoula Laboratory; Collection of Brandi Noble, NOAA/NMFS/SEFSC

Damaged cilia have long been associated with asymmetry-related disease. In Kartagener syndrome, for example, immobile cilia in the windpipe cause breathing difficulties. Intriguingly, the body asymmetry of people with the syndrome is often entirely inversed, to become an almost perfect mirror image of what it would otherwise. In the early 2000s, researchers discovered that the syndrome was caused by defects in a number of proteins driving movement in cells, including those of the cilia. In addition, a 2015 Nature study identified two dozen mouse genes related to cilia that give rise to unusual asymmetries when defective.

Yet cilia cannot be the whole story. Many animals, even some mammals, dont have a ciliated pit, said Michael Levin, a biologist at Tufts University who was the first author on some of the Nodal papers from Tabins lab in the 1990s.

In addition, the motor proteins critical for normal asymmetry development dont only occur in the cilia, Levin said. They also work with the cellular skeleton, a network of sticks and strands that provides structure to the cell, to guide its movements and transport cellular components.

An increasing number of studies suggest that this may give rise to asymmetry within individual cells as well. Cells have a kind of handedness, said Leo Wan, a biomedical engineer at the Rensselaer Polytechnic Institute. When they hit an obstacle, some types of cells will turn left while others will turn right. Wan has created a test that consists of a plate with two concentric, circular ridges. We place cells between those ridges, then watch them move around, he said. When they hit one of the ridges, they turn, and their preferred direction is clearly visible.

The red crossbill uses its unique beak to access the seeds in conifer cones.Jason Crotty

Wan believes the cells preference depends on the interplay between two elements of the cellular skeleton: actin and myosin. Actin is a protein that forms trails throughout the cell. Myosin, another protein, moves across these trails, often while dragging other cellular components along. Both proteins are well-known for their activity in muscle cells, where they are crucial for contraction. Kenji Matsuno, a cellular biologist at Osaka University, has discovered a series of what he calls unconventional myosins that appear crucial to asymmetrical development. Matsuno agrees that myosins are likely causing cell handedness.

Consider the fruit fly. It lacks both the ciliated pit as well as Nodal, yet it develops an asymmetric hindgut. Matsuno has demonstrated that the handedness of cells in the hindgut depends on myosin and that the handedness reflected by the cells initial tilt is what guides the guts development. The cells handedness does not just define how they move, but also how they hold on to each other, he explains. Together those wrestling cells create a hindgut that curves and turns exactly the way its supposed to. A similar process was described in the roundworm C. elegans.

Nodal isnt necessary for the development of all asymmetry in vertebrates, either. In a study published in Nature Communications in 2013, Jeroen Bakkers, a biologist at the Hubrecht Institute in the Netherlands, described how the zebra fish heart may curve to the right in the absence of Nodal. In fact, he went on to show that it even does so when removed from the body and deposited into a simple lab dish. That being said, he adds, in animals without Nodal, the heart did not shift left as it should, nor did it turn correctly. Though some asymmetry originates within, the cells do need Nodals help.

The European red slug has a large, dark respiratory pore on its right side.Hans Hillewaert

For Tabin, experiments like this show that while Nodal may not be the entire story, it is the most crucial factor in the development of asymmetry. From the standpoint of evolution, it turns out, breaking symmetry wasnt that difficult, he said. There are multiple ways of doing it, and different organisms have done it in different ways. The key that evolution had to solve was making asymmetry reliable and robust, he said. Lefty and Nodal together are a way of making sure that asymmetry is robust.

Yet others believe that important links are waiting to be discovered. Research from Levins lab suggests that communication among cells may be an under-explored factor in the development of asymmetry.

The cellular skeleton also directs the transport of specialized proteins to the cell surface, Levin said. Some of these allow cells to communicate by exchanging electrical charges. This electrical communication, his research suggests, may direct the movements of cells as well as how the cells express their genes. If we block the [communication] channels, asymmetrical development always goes awry, he said. And by manipulating this system, weve been able to guide development in surprising but predictable directions, creating six-legged frogs, four-headed worms or froglets with an eye for a gut, without changing their genomes at all.

The apparent ability of developing organisms to detect and correct their own shape fuels Levins belief that self-repair might one day be an option for humans as well. Under every rock, there is a creature that can repair its complex body all by itself, he points out. If we can figure out how this works, Levin said, it might revolutionize medicine. Many people think Im too optimistic, but I have the engineering view on this: Anything thats not forbidden by the laws of physics is possible.

Original story reprinted with permission from Quanta Magazine, an editorially independent publication of the Simons Foundation whose mission is to enhance public understanding of science by covering research developments and trends in mathematics and the physical and life sciences.